Phantom Prey

better than the alternative,” Del said. “I didn’t know he’d dropped that fuckin’ gun until you told me.”
    “You see that guy come out of the store with that pie in the box?” Lucas asked. “He comes out and sees a dead guy laying there . . .”
    “Hope it wasn’t a cherry pie; he might be getting flashbacks about now.”
    In his mind’s eye, Lucas saw Siggy’s head, and the thick coagulating pool of blood underneath it. Imagined a fly buzzing around, though he hadn’t seen any flies.
    Fuckin’ Siggy.
    "See you back at the office?” Del asked.
    “Yeah. We all oughta get something on paper tonight. This was a long way from perfect.”
    “See you there,” Del said. “I’m gonna stop at home first. Cheryl’s been barfing again.”
    “See you there.”

27
    Fairy had the gall and the will and even—maybe—the sense of humor that would make it possible to kill Davenport and get away with it. Alyssa herself was too fragile, and could feel the stress pecking at her even as Fairy, with her Valley-girl voice, called Davenport’s home and spoke to Weather.
    “Is Lucas Davenport there?”
    “No, he’s not—who is this, please?” Weather was using her surgeon’s voice, with the crisp edge of command.
    “Um, I’m an old friend of Frances Austin’s. Do you know when Officer Davenport will be home?”
    “Actually, I don’t. There’s been a big problem, a shooting, in St. Paul, and he’s working it. You might be able to get him at his office.”
    At his office. The BCA. Where was that? Fairy was standing at a phone kiosk without phone books, or even a place to put them. Had to be some way—how did people get to the BCA, if they had an appointment?
    Five minutes later, Alyssa, now in her office at the Highland Park spa, brought up the BCA website and got not only a map, but a photograph. The photograph gave her an idea, and she brought up Google Earth, homed in on east St. Paul, and two minutes later sent a satellite view of the BCA building and parking lots to her printer.
    And it all came in handy: the BCA was located out of the city center, near a popular lake and park. She cruised the parking lot, spotted Davenport’s Porsche. How many cops had Porsches? Very convenient.
    She parked across the street, in an empty lot behind some kind of clinic, and let Fairy take over.
    “Simple enough,” Fairy said, meeting Loren’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “If he’s by himself when he comes out, I’ll kill him here. If he’s not, we follow him home, and we kill him at his garage. How far do you have to drive before you’re lost in traffic? Not far, I think.”
    “But you’re going as Alyssa,” Loren said. “If Weather sees you . . . I’d be happier if we had time to get another wig. Have you go dark.”
    She shrugged. “If I bought a dark wig, and somebody ran it down . . . This is okay, because”—she tapped her forehead—“Alyssa’s right here, and she’s a big chicken. If there’s any reason not to do it, she’ll tell us.”
    “And you’ll let her back.”
    “Of course,” Fairy said. “Alyssa and I are very close now.”
    Then she got a taste of cop work: she sat, and sat, and sat, and Lucas didn’t come out. Three dozen people came and went, but the Porsche sat there, untouched. She got the gun out from the storage console at her elbow, turned the cylinder, looked once and then again to make sure each of the chambers was loaded, put it back in the console.
    Sat some more, and after a while, became aware of her bladder and started looking at bushes by the back door of the clinic. If a cop saw her, and she was right across the street from about a million cops . . .
    Alyssa didn’t want to, but Fairy goaded her into it: “Two minutes, we’ll feel a lot better.”
    “If anybody sees . . .”
    “It’s pitch-dark out there. We’re wearing black. Who’s going to see?”
    The argument took a while. Fairy won, and she slipped out of the car with a handful of Kleenex, into the bushes, and back to the car a few minutes later, feeling much better.
    “See. That’s life, Alyssa,” Fairy said. “Peeing is a natural function.”
    “Shut up.”
    THEN HE CAME. She recognized him immediately—a big guy, athletic, relaxed stride; with another guy, talking. Couldn’t take him here— couldn’t take him even if he’d been alone, she realized, because she’d misjudged the distance to the car. The two guys weren’t especially hurrying, but they were covering ground,